CONSUMMATION
by SayItRight
Summary: After two years as a couple, Lois and Clark consummate their relationship.  Set post-"Pandora." Companion piece to "REVELATION" and "ILLUMINATION."
1. Part 1 of 2

**Title:** CONSUMMATION

**Author: **SayItRight**  
**

**Editors: ****bigblueplanet **and** hellokitty** (from Kryptonsite)

**Pairing: **_Smallville_'s Lois Lane and Clark Kent

**Summary:** After two years as a couple, Lois and Clark consummate their relationship. [Set post-"Pandora"]

**Rating:** M, NC-17, TV-MA, etc. - For sensuality and specificity, not vulgarity or profanity.

**Warning:** The following contains the explicit depiction of sexual situations between consenting adults. If you are too young or too much of a prude to handle that sort of thing, get lost. Excuse me: Get lost, please.

**Disclaimer:** With the sole exception of this original story, I own nothing. I claim nothing. I am not profiting. I intend no infringement.

**Acknowledgments****:** To the _Smallville_ writing staff, to Tom Welling, and, especially, to Erica Durance: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the inspiration.

**Dedication:** There is no Superman without Lois Lane. If you agree, then this story is for you.

**Author's Note****:** The following is the first Lois and Clark story that I ever felt so strongly about that I had to tell it myself. As such, it is no idle indulgence. Please comment. Please critique. Please keep me honest.

CONSUMMATION**  
**

**Part 1**

"You wouldn't hurt me, Clark," she'd told him with her hand to his chest. He'd wanted to trust himself as much as she did, but he simply wasn't ready.

Her words echo in his head as he sits at his desk, failing miserably at being productive. She'd never explained what she meant, and in the year since they'd had that conversation, she hadn't pressed the issue. In fact, she was always the one to cut short their heavy make-outs and heavier petting - never resentfully and never insultingly, but rather with a gentle smile that spoke of her commitment to their relationship and to the line upon which they'd agreed.

"Do I have to do everything myself?" He looks up from his screen to see Lois turning the corner, scolding an unfortunate research assistant. "Just forget it. I'll call myself," she huffs, snatching a telephone list from the terrified young woman's hand. Collapsing into her desk chair, she grabs her landline from its cradle only to find the assistant still at her side. Cutting her eyes at her, she orders, "Dismissed."

As the young woman hurries off towards the elevator, Lois happens to glance across her and Clark's adjoining desks to find him looking right back at her, accusingly. "Do not give me the eyes. Not everything in life has to be sugarcoated. And incompetence should never be tolerated." Holding her gaze, he tilts his head to one side and sets his jaw. She doesn't back down. Neither does he.

After a long moment, she pushes back from her desk and stands. "Fine," she sighs with an exaggerated eye-roll, and walks off after the assistant to apologize.

Clark smiles to himself and shakes his head. No one who knew her professionally would credit the indefatigable Lois Lane with patience. But he knew differently.

She'd waited for him to mature into a man. She'd waited for him to realize how much she meant to him. She'd waited for him to tell her his deepest secret. And, now, when every mistruth and outright lie had been cleared away, when there was nothing left between them but their loyalty to each other, she waited still.

"Consider that the one and only guilt trip you get to send me on today, Smallville," she states, retaking her seat and picking up her extension.

He watches her as she dials number after number, trying to verify the details for her latest expose. She hates when he stares; she tells him so constantly. But that hasn't stopped him before and it certainly won't stop him now.

She scans the information on her computer as she waits for someone on the other end of the line to answer. Without bothering to look away from her screen, she tells Clark, "You're doing it again." Licking her lips and lowering her tone, she adds, "Keep it up and you're liable to burn a hole through me one day."

A shiver runs from his chest to his groin, and he coughs out a stilted laugh. He never can get enough of her flirtation. Nearly two years since they became official and she's never stopped flirting with him, never once dialed down her sass and sensuality - even with no end to their abstention in sight.

Regarding her still, he can't help but think of the solitaire ring that has been burning a hole in his pocket for months. He hadn't purchased it with any immediate plans in mind; he'd just wanted to be prepared should some perfect moment present itself.

Indeed, many such moments had come, and he'd let them all go. The issue of their physical intimacy weighed too heavily on his mind. He wanted her. He'd always wanted her - needed her, in fact. There'd been countless times when he'd been so lost in her touch, so intoxicated by her scent, that he'd forgotten the promise they made each other. But no matter how frenzied the circumstance, her hands to his chest - softly pushing against him - and his name from her lips - spoken with utter compassion - always brought him back to himself.

Beset by a clamor of contesting impulses, he is consumed by both the desire for her, and the fear of the damage he's capable of doing. And all the while, the ring in his pocket lingers in his thoughts, reminding him that he cannot presume to ask her to spend her life with him until the final wall between them comes down.

Shaking his head, he sets that thought aside and decides to trust her, even if he does not trust himself. Resolved, he takes in a steeling breath and slowly lets it out.

Sensing the change in his mood, Lois, fingers tapping away on her keyboard and shoulder bracing the phone to her ear, peers up at Clark to find him looking intently back at her. Raising her eyebrows, she asks, "What?" He shifts in his seat and begins to say something, but stops. "C'mon, Smallville, what is it?"

Unsure of how to verbalize the sentiment he wishes to express, he gets up from his desk to walk around it to her side, hoping that he'll have figured out what to say by the time he gets there.

Standing before her, he finds himself still at a loss. Growing impatient, Lois hangs up her phone and turns towards him, arms crossed. "Seriously, Clark, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Uncomfortable, he laughs at the irony of her statement and avoids looking her in the face.

Taking note of his discomposure, his trembling hands and knotted brow, she becomes concerned. She rises to stand directly in front of him, ignoring the bustle of Daily Planet employees trying to kill the final hour of the workday. Lowering her voice to a volume only his super-hearing can pick up, she asks, "What is it, Baby?"

With a small, knowing smile, he looks up from the floor to her eyes. She hardly ever calls him "Baby." _It's too syrupy_, she'd once claimed. But even then, he'd known that her protestations were insincere. She likes saying it as much as he likes hearing it. The only reason she uses it less often than any other nickname or endearment is because she wants it to mean something more when she does.

He shifts again and clears his throat. "Lois, I…I, um…" Suddenly, he is keenly aware of the dozens of noisy people around them, and he falls silent once more.

"C'mon," she tells him, taking his hand. "Let's get some air."

They walk out onto the roof of the Daily Planet, and into a cool autumnal breeze. Lois stops several strides short of the building's edge and Clark continues until he's leaning against the ledge, facing the sun. They'd long since discovered that no matter the situation, a few moments in direct sunlight helped with nearly any problem he had, even his mood. Taking in the late afternoon rays, his mind clears and his entire being swells with renewed vigor. "Are you cold?" he asks her over his shoulder.

_Always such a gentleman_. "No, I'm fine. Feel better?"

"Mm-hmm," he says, turning around to face her.

"Good, then let's have it."

He clears his throat, preparing to extemporize, but her interrogative nature gets the better of her before he can.

"Look, I'm not trying to rush you or anything, but you haven't looked this unsettled since you dropped the double-identity bomb on me, so you're kind of freaking me out right now. Is it bad news? It must be, right? If it is, I'd rather you just spit it out."

"Lois -"

"- Are you sick? Hurt?"

"No and no, Lois. I -"

"- Well then, are you stressed out? Or worried about something? This doesn't have to do with that mob story from last week, does it?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Because I'm not in the mood to go another twelve rounds with you over the dangers that come with our jobs."

Before he can think the better of it, he reacts to her latest accusation. "They did take you hostage, Lois. And even you admitted that trying to infiltrate that organization by posing as a stripper - which, by the way, I'm beginning to think is a favorite pastime of yours - wasn't exactly the best -" He stops short as she shifts her weight to one hip and sets her jaw, glaring at him. She's right, another twelve rounds isn't worth it. "Look, never mind. That's not what this is about, anyways."

Still in her power stance, she rattles off, "Well it can't have to do with us. I mean, we're good." When his face changes at the mention of their relationship, she panics. "Are we not good?"

Seeing where this conversation is quickly headed, he advances towards her. "Lois -"

"- What happened to make us not good? And how bad is it that it's reduced you to a bumbling idiot?"

"Lois -" he tries again, reaching out to her, but she takes a determined step backwards, distancing them. He's seen that move numerous times before. It's self-preservational, he knows, and never intended to hurt him. But no matter how heated their arguments or how justified she is in staying away, he can never bear the thought of her refusing his touch.

"- Are you breaking up with me? You are, aren't you? You're breaking up with me!"

"Lois -"

"- It took you years to get a clue and then months to finally ask me out, and now you're dumping me at the drop of a hat?" Rolling her eyes, "I think I'm gonna vomit. I just can't believe -"

"- Lois!"

"What?"

He doesn't speak at first. Instead, he lets the silence temper the exchange they've been having. When she looks as though she might start in on him again, he shakes his head, deterring her. She knows what he's doing. He's listening to her heartbeat and waiting for it to return to its normal cadence. She would give him a hard time about doing something so presumptuous, if she didn't find it kind of sweet.

Convinced she's calmed down, he tells her, "We are not breaking up."

"Yeah, well…fine," she squeaks out. Clearing her throat and regaining her composure, she adds, "It'd be your loss, anyhow."

"I know," he offers with both amusement and sincerity.

She smiles and laughs off his always-unsettling candor. Despite knowing that she understands how much he cares for her, he still makes a point of reminding her practically every chance he gets. Nearly two years since they became official and he's never stopped courting her, never once dialed down his charm and sentimentality - even with no extension to the length of her short temper in sight.

Changing gears, she asks, "Are we up here for any real reason? Or did you just feel like picking a fight?"

Locking eyes with her, he removes his horn-rimmed spectacles and confidently takes the three strides separating him from her. "Stop talking, Lois." He snakes one hand into the hair at the base of her scalp, and winds the other around her lower back. Without hesitation, he leans in to press his lips to hers and congratulates himself as her eyes flutter closed just before he makes contact.

Gingerly, he sweeps his lips across hers. Pulling her flush against him, he lightly nips at her bottom lip. With a soft moan, she eases her mouth open, granting his unspoken request. Tenderly, he massages her tongue with his. Deepening their kiss further, he dizzies at the sweetness of her taste - always of cherry and vanilla. _Like Christmas candy_, he'd once told her. Another moan bubbles up from her throat, and he returns it with one of his own. Her hands, firm against his neck, urge him on. But, instead, he eases his pressure on her scalp and leaves her with one last kiss before inching away.

Her eyes still closed, she purrs, "You know, Clark, if that was all you wanted, you could have just pulled me into the copy room like you usually do."

Brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers, he summons his courage and, barely above a whisper, tells her, "That's not all I wanted."

Taken aback, she freezes. They hadn't broached this subject since the one and only conversation they'd had about it a year ago. At the time, she'd been thankful to find out that he hadn't been skittish because he was uninterested. But her relief came with the realization that he had serious concerns about harming her and didn't think he could cross that final line. "You wouldn't hurt me," she'd told him, without ever explaining her meaning. It was better that he figure it out in his own time. Now, out of the blue, he's acknowledging the elephant in the room.

She finally opens her eyes to meet his nervous gaze. Reluctant to jump to the obvious conclusion, she softly asks, "Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?"

"Yes."

Despite knowing how much it upsets him when she rejects his touch, she steps out of their embrace to gather her thoughts. He watches her aimlessly pace around the roof, her expression unreadable.

After several long minutes, she returns to where he's standing. Before speaking, she takes one of his large hands into both of hers. The therapist she'd seen a couple years ago told her that it's helpful when couples maintain some form of physical contact with each other during important conversations. It had something to do with keeping things in perspective and keeping that physical link, which symbolized the relationship, present at all times. Taking a breath, she asks, "Why now?"

"I don't know." When she doesn't immediately respond, he takes it as his cue to try again. "I'm not avoiding the question, or the answer, for that matter. It's just that…I really don't know." He glances down at his hand in hers and tries harder. "We were…we were sitting at our desks and I was looking at you -"

"- You mean 'staring,'" she offers with a warm smile. "Keep going."

He laughs a bit, relaxing. "Yeah. I was staring. And, uh…something just changed or…clicked, or something… And, you know, we agreed to be upfront about this kind of stuff, so I knew I shouldn't wait to tell you. And, now, here we are."

"Alright," she responds, believing him. "Have you thought about this?"

"I'm always thinking about this."

Feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, she corrects, "Th-That's not what I meant."

He smiles at her reaction. "Yeah, I know. You're asking if I've thought it through. And, yes, I have."

Leaving his hand in one of hers, she rests her other on his chest. She's never explained the gesture, and he can't remember when she started doing it. But it speaks volumes. "Are you sure, Clark?"

Shaking his head and answering her honestly, he admits, "No. Not really. Not absolutely." Bringing his free hand to cover hers on his chest, he looks her right in the eye and adds, "But I want to try."

Smiling, she wraps her hands around his neck and pulls him into a brief kiss. "Okay."

Relieved to have the hard part of the conversation over, Lois jokes, "I take it you don't want to do this right now? Seeing as we still have another half-an-hour of work left."

Challenging her, he leans down to nuzzle the sensitive spot at the base of her ear and growls, "Why not?"

Reflexively licking her lips and tilting her head to the side to allow him better access, she lets him continue demonstrating his thorough knowledge of her body.

Scraping his teeth across her ear and licking at her lobe, he runs his hand down her hip and around her backside, squeezing. Soft and wanting, she exhales his name.

Then, without warning, he lets her go and backs away. Lois stumbles, not realizing her legs had gone weak. Pleased by how thrown she is, he taunts, "Too easy."

Scoffing, she pokes at his chest and accuses, "Tease!"

Clark doubles over, laughing. Gasping for air, he manages, "C'mon, Lois. Do you really think our first time should be on the filthy roof of the building we work in, in plain view of perfect strangers?"

"That's enough with the giggles, funny man. When and where would you like this little foray to take place?"

Gathering himself, he suggests, "How's tonight?"

"Uh, wow, tonight? Really?"

"Yeah, unless you don't want to. Or you're busy. Or…you don't want to."

"No, no, no, no, no. It's not the wanting. It's just, you know, it's been two years and suddenly there's a, like, -" - checking her watch - "- four-hour countdown. I'm just trying to get my head around the turn this day has taken."

"Lois, we've gone this long. We don't have to tonight. Or anytime soon, if that's what you want. Actually, you know, you should pick the day. And the place, too."

"For crying out loud, Smallville, your sense of chivalry's gonna keep this from ever happening. Um…okay…I prefer home-field advantage. Unless there are any objections?" He shakes his head. "Alright. And tonight sounds perfect. Unless, of course, you have to -" - making a flying gesture with her hands - "- do that thing you do."

"Not tonight."

...


	2. Part 2 of 2

**Part 2**

"I can hear you squirming!" she shouts from inside her bathroom.

"I am not squirming," he lies. He'd tried sitting on the edge of the bed, but his anxiety had set in. Then he'd tried scooting back to lean against the headboard, but he figured she'd crack some kind of super-lover joke. So, he'd decided to stand. Standing, though, had led to pacing. And, being the nervous wreck that he was, he'd tripped over the sheet wrapped around his waist and fallen into a dresser. Now, he's been caught fidgeting and stands, berating himself, in the middle of the floor.

"Just go sit down, Smallville."

Still agonizing, he heads back towards the bed. Before reaching it, he stops in front of a full-length mirror and undoes the sheet, scrutinizing his bare figure. Satisfied that he's well groomed, he rewraps the fabric. Attempting to avoid making any more noise, he lifts off of the floor and continues on. With his legs crossed, he hovers over the middle of the bed and struggles to pull himself together.

Head in hand, he takes in a calming breath and asks the bathroom door, "Everything alright in there?"

"Patience. I'm operating on short notice."

"It's been thirty minutes, Lois. And you're not supposed to be wearing anything."

"Clothes are not the issue. The magic you see before you every day doesn't just happen. It takes meticulous preparation and flawless execution."

Smiling to himself, he responds, "I'm not complaining."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

Hearing the bathroom door creak, he straightens and looks up to see her emerge. Clad only in her satin robe, she pauses in the doorway. He takes in the sight of her luminous face, free of make-up, and her dark tresses, curled and tousled into soft waves. Forgetting the worry that had consumed him for the past half-hour, he compliments her with his eyes.

"Thank you," she smiles. With the first awkwardness over, she finally takes a moment to look around. "Uh, Clark, what have you done to my room?"

"Um, I, uh…I cleaned it."

"Yeah, I can see that, and we'll discuss that some other time. But I'm talking about everything else," she says, gesturing to the dozens of flickering candles, the chilled champagne and strawberries, the vased white calla lilies lining the dressers, and the red rose petals strewn across the floor and bed. Amused, she comments, "It looks like a love scene out of a Harlequin romance novel in here. I mean, -" - looking around again and giggling - "- this is a major seduction you've got going on."

"Well, you were in there for so long, I figured…why not? It only took me a minute." Calculating in his head, he specifies, "Literally, a minute. And besides, tonight's…different."

Not letting him off the hook just yet, she teases, "Different? Because setting the mood doesn't seem to cross your mind when you've got your tongue down my throat and your hand up my shirt when we're in the copy room? Or in your truck? Or on my desk? Or…midair over the city?"

He blushes, and she gently laughs at him. Happy with his reaction to her ribbing, she leaves the doorway and begins to approach the bed.

"Do you hate it?" he worries.

Sincere, she answers, "No, of course not. It's all very lovely and very thoughtful. Very…you." Stopping a step short of her destination, she observes the distance between his body and her bed. "Uh, Sweetie, this is a 'No Fly Zone.'"

"Oh. Sorry," he offers, descending and coming to rest in a seated position in the middle of the bed. "I forgot."

"It's okay."

Silence falls between them. Compassionately, they regard one another, each giving the other the chance to take in the weight of the situation. After a long moment, she looks at the sheet draped across his lower body and, attempting to ease the tension, reminds him, "You know, I have seen you naked before - many times, in fact. Showers. Baths. Skinny-dipping."

"I recall being forced into that last one," he corrects.

With honey dripping from her voice, she counters, "But not the first two."

They exchange warm smiles, and she moves her hands to the sash tied around her waist. Thinking the better of it, she pauses, asking him, "Did you want to do the honors?"

_Always_, he thinks. Butpreferring to remain in his spot, he shakes his head. Understanding, she pulls at and unties the bow. Watching him follow her movements, she opens the robe just above her chest and pulls it away, letting it fall off her shoulders, glide down her arms, and gather on the carpet at her feet. The amber glow of the candlelight dances on her skin, and he finds himself rendered breathless by the sight.

"Stunning," he exhales. "As always."

Holding his sheet in place and reaching out for her, he takes her hand and helps her into the bed. She takes a seat along his side, facing him. Their mouths gravitate towards each other and meet in a familiar, unhurried kiss. He cups her cheek in one hand and combs the other through her hair. She wraps her arms around his broad torso, leisurely fingering the muscles in his back.

Pulling away, he suggests, "Should we do a toast?"

"Of course. We can't ruin the super-lover thing that's happening here."

"There it is," he chuckles to himself, reaching to the nightstand to fill two flutes.

"There what is?"

"The 'super-lover' crack. Saw it coming a mile away." Turning back to her, he offers her a glass. "What should we toast to?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something," she teases, grinning ear to ear.

"Ugh…Okay, uh…-" - raising his glass - " -…to, um…"

Not bothering to restrain her amusement, she goads, "C'mon, you can do it."

Shaking his head in exasperation, he narrows his eyes at her and huffs, "How about we toast to you?"

Giggling, "To me?"

"Yes. To you," Smiling, he begins, "To…the thorn in my side, the pebble in my shoe, the stick in my craw -"

Laughing, she interrupts, "- The stick in your 'craw'? That's country by even your standards -"

Speaking over her and smirking, he continues, "- To the cause of my past headaches, my present anxieties, and my future heart attack."

"You trying to get laid or not?" she continues laughing. Eventually, she calms down enough to speak again and says, "For the record: You suck at toasts. But, to all that, cheers." She reaches her glass to his, but he moves it away.

"I'm not finished." His smile warms and his eyes soften. Clearing his throat, he begins again, "To an intelligent, tireless, and resourceful colleague. To an honest, thoughtful, and hilarious friend. And, to a supportive, kind, and gorgeous lover.

"Without you, Lois, I could be neither the man nor the myth that I have become. So, with all my heart, here's to you."

With watery eyes, she lets him touch his glass to hers, and they both take small sips. The chill of the liquid keeps her tears from falling, for which she is grateful. After starting, it would be hard to stop.

"Would you like a strawberry?" he asks, recognizing her need for a change in subject.

She closes the distance between them and brushes her lips against his. "Maybe after," she whispers, and takes his glass. He swallows as she sets their flutes back on the nightstand and returns to his side. Winding her fingers into his hair, she reaches for his mouth.

"Are you nervous?" he asks, stopping her.

Stroking his cheeks and hair, she replies, "Not really."

"I am."

"I know."

His gaze falls from her face and his eyes follow his hand as he trails it along the sides of her leg and waist, to her shoulder, and up her arm, until he reaches her hand resting on his cheek. Closing his eyes, he turns his head into her palm.

"I know what you're thinking," she offers. "And you don't have to worry: I won't hurt you."

A laugh bubbles up from his throat and he opens his eyes to find her gently smiling at him.

"Just kiss me, Clark."

"It's as simple as that, huh?"

"Yes."

With reverent eyes, he studies her face. As he sits here, taking in the tenderness coming off of her in waves, feeling as invigorated by her warmth as he does by the yellow sun's, he knows that she's chosen him - that she is as invested in him as he is in her. Certain of the decision that brought them to this precipice, he leans towards her, and takes the plunge.

As his lips meet hers, she sighs into his mouth and pushes her fingers deeper into his hair. He wraps his arms around her, enveloping her, and she shudders at the contrast of the cool air in her room to his body heat. Her shiver reaches all the way to her lips, and he smiles at the slight vibration, pulling her lower lip into his mouth.

"Mmh..." she whimpers, tilting her head to one side and easing her tongue past his lips. Seeking more contact, she moves her hands from his hair to his lower back and scoots towards him until their chests are melded together.

Feeling the heaviness of her breasts pushing against him, he groans and deepens their kiss. Searching, he insinuates his tongue further into her mouth. When the familiar notes of cherry and vanilla hit his palate, he snakes a hand into the hair at the base of her scalp, lightly squeezing.

The added pressure sends a tremor down her body, and she tears her mouth from his. She gasps, overtaken by the first flush of arousal slicking her core. Eager for more of her taste, he reinitiates their contact, muffling her moan with his lips. Smiling at his impatience, she teases him through their kiss, "Like Christmas candy?"

Hardly registering her question, he offers an instinctive reply: "Like you."

She relaxes further into him, letting him drink her in, savoring her. With flicks of his tongue against hers, scrapes of his teeth along her lips, and the insistent pressure of his hand against her scalp, he soon drives the air from her lungs. "Oh, god..." she manages when he momentarily pulls away to readjust his angle. Focused on the sounds of her needy moans and whimpers, he doesn't realize the extent of his own arousal until he feels himself straining against the sheet still covering his lower half.

"Clark…" she gasps, and he finally relents, pushing her hair away and moving to her throat. Swallowing hard, she opens her eyes in hopes of gathering herself. When he licks at a pulse point, she rests her head back into his palm, allowing him free rein of her throat. Reveling in the lush sensation of his hot, moist kisses, she takes in the sight around her. The flames from the candles sway and flicker, and cast a tremulous glow throughout the room, making everything seem alive. She cannot imagine a more perfect setting for this moment. She wants to thank him for being the sugary romantic that he his, but his tongue is outlining the shell of her ear, driving any thoughts of gratitude from her mind. He whispers her name in her ear and pulls her lobe into his mouth. Licking her lips, she exhales another moan.

Before her eyes flutter shut again, they fall to the sheet separating them. "Clark?"

"Hmm?" he muffles against her collarbone.

Bringing a hand from his back to rest on the sheet at his hip, she asks, "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"

"Quite often, actually," he smiles, nibbling along her shoulder.

Hooking a finger underneath the sheet, she reminds, "It's as true now as it ever was."

Leaving her shoulder, he presses a kiss to her mouth. "Thank you."

Holding his eyes, she begins to trace her finger along his hipbone. He glances down at her hand and then back up at her, realizing what she's asking. "Oh. Guess I forgot."

"Liar."

Coughing out a slight laugh, he untangles his hand from her hair. Watching her follow his movements, he reaches around behind himself and lifts his hips off the bed to undo the back of the sheet. He sits back down and the fabric gathers in his lap. Taking the time to brush his fingers against hers at his hip, he grasps the cotton material. Slowly, he pulls it down and across his legs, and sets it off to the side.

Taking in the sight of his bare form, she echoes his earlier sentiment, "Stunning. As always."

He can't help beaming at her flattery. But his smile melts away when she leans forward to kiss him, deeper and more insistently than before. Taken off guard, his head spins and he reaches out to her to ground him. Unyielding, she pulls his lip into her mouth, rolls her tongue around it, and bites down. His blood rushes down to his groin, leaving him pained, aching for her soothing caress.

"Mmm…" he moans, as she scrapes her nails from his knee to his inner thigh, inching higher and higher.

"I want you," she tells him, her voice thick and husky. She reaches for him, but he shifts away. "Oh, come on. Really?"

Ignoring her whine of protest, he sits up onto his knees and flattens a hand to her back. Muting any further complaints with a firm kiss, he pushes forward and reclines her into the mattress. Obligingly, she eases her legs apart, making room for him. Leaning over her, he keeps his weight on his knees to maintain some distance between their hips. She reaches between them, but he catches her wrist. Scoffing and rolling her eyes, she tries with her other hand and he catches it, too. Lacing his fingers into hers, he pushes her hands into the bed just above her head.

Staring her down, he inches his face towards hers. Breathing his words against her lips, he asks, "If I tell you to stay put, will you?"

Suggestively, she trails her eyes down and back up his body, pausing only to regard and lick her lips at the sight of his obvious arousal.

"I didn't think so," he taunts, closing the distance between their mouths. Eagerly, she accepts his kiss, and she exhales in frustration when he abandons it.

Moving down her throat, he untwines their fingers and secures her wrists to the bed with one hand. Circling his tongue along her collarbone, he brushes the backs of his fingers down the middle of her chest and across her ribs.

Her nipples harden and strain. Whispering his name, she urges him lower. He splays his large hand across a full, supple breast, massaging the familiar terrain. She bows her back, pressing into his palm. Teasing his kisses lower, he closes his mouth over the flesh cradled in his hand, and she moans. "Mmm…Clark…"

Widening his mouth, he pulls at as much of her as he can. Again and again, he swirls and flicks his tongue around her pebbled nipple. Before moving to lavish the same attention on her other breast, he peers up to see her biting down on her lip. "Breathe, Sweetheart," he reminds her, and she lets out the air she hadn't realized she was holding in. Over and over, he pulls at and kneads her, scraping his teeth just hard enough to render her breathless once more.

Drifting downward, he releases her wrists and uses both hands to secure her writhing hips to the mattress. He runs his tongue from her stomach to the crest of her pelvic bone. Releasing her hips, he reaches under and pushes against her thigh, and eases his shoulder between the bottom of her leg and the mattress. Kissing his way to the first dustings of neatly trimmed hair, he hooks his other hand underneath her knee, pulling it up and pressing until the top of her thigh reaches the side of her chest. He inhales, and his mouth waters at the always intoxicating scent of her familiar taste.

Closing the small space between him and her, he is shocked to feel a hand wind into his hair and pull hard enough to stop him.

"Not tonight," he hears.

_What? _"What?" Looking up, he meets her lusty gaze. "You're kidding, right?" When she shakes her head, he sulks, "Is this payback?"

"No, actually."

"Lois -"

"- Not tonight. Now, come here."

Hanging his head in disbelief, he crawls back up her body and plants his hands on the bed on either side of her head. Wrapping her arms around his back, she inclines her mouth to kiss him, but he doesn't reciprocate.

"Are you really that upset about it?"

"Yes."

Dropping her head back into the mattress, she indulges, "Of course you are."

Too feverish to argue, she settles on a small compromise. Holding his gaze and reaching between them, she runs a finger along the top of her inner thigh and through damp folds. Releasing a shuddering breath at the light contact, she dips inside just long enough for her single digit to absorb her heat. Shuddering again and whimpering as she withdraws, she raises her glistening finger and displays it before him. Watching him swallow in anticipation of her taste, she instead traces the moisture along her own lips, then takes her entire finger into her mouth and licks away the final vestiges. "Mmm…" she entices, wrapping her hands around his neck.

Before she can say a word, he hungrily presses his mouth to hers, running his tongue along her lips. Groaning in appreciation, he pushes into her mouth, seeking out the remnants of her earthy flavor. Matching his fervor, she angles her head further to one side and eases her mouth further open. They push their tongues against each other, each desperate for as much contact as possible. Soon, he becomes acutely aware of the throbbing ache between his legs, and, given the litany of murmurs and moans dripping from her lips, he's confident that her need has reached fever pitch as well. Clenching the sheets in his hands, he tries to fight back his longing to bury himself in her right now. But their kisses and her legs grazing his hips, urging him down onto her, are driving him to distraction.

Trying to get her attention, he says her name against her lips, but it comes out as a low moan and only encourages her, and she wraps her arms around his back. He tries again, with more conviction than he feels.

"Hmm?" she mumbles, persisting in her assault on his senses.

Digging deeper, he forces open his eyes and speaks so loudly he startles himself, "Lois?"

Hearing him clearly this time, she relents and opens her eyes. "Yes, Baby?" she huffs out, panting.

Still breathless, he manages, "You would stop me, right?"

Distracted by the sight of his broad, heaving chest, the flush in his cheeks, and the proximity of his hips, she answers honestly, "Right this second? No, I would absolutely not."

"I'm serious, Lois."

"I know you are." Licking her lips, she takes a moment to rein herself in, and continues, "I take your concerns seriously. I do. And you know that. Just like I know that you take seriously that I've never once - even for a second - worried about you doing me the least bit of harm."

"…Yeah."

Through their ragged breaths, they exchange understanding looks.

Leaning back down, he kisses her. When he feels her hand inching from around his back and down the front of his hip, he pulls away, nervously seeking a final assurance, "You would tell me? The second anything felt wrong or off? You'd stop me?"

"Silly, silly man," she croons. "If anyone's gonna cry for mercy, - " - wrapping her fingers around him -

"Unh…"

"- it'll be you."

She watches him squeeze shut his eyes as she rolls her wrist, pulling her hand back and forth. He takes in a shaky breath, and lets it out in a smoldering groan. Back and forth. Back and forth. She draws out his passion, all the while delighting in the changes in his face.

His heavy breaths fill the room and resound all the way to her core, intensifying the painful throb between her legs. Biting her lip and swallowing, she tries to think of anything but the nearness of the hardness in her hand to the place where she most needs him.

Just as the urge to guide him into her becomes too much to take, the mattress on either side of her head starts to shudder, and derails her intentions. Taking her eyes away from his face, she glances right and left to see his forearms and hands shaking. Concerned, she brings her unoccupied hand to his cheek, and slows the rhythmic kneading of the other.

"Lois?" he half groans, half asks.

The ache in his voice tells her all she needs to know.

He is caught in the frantic place between desire and trepidation, terrified to take either course. He imagines himself moving his hands to angle her hips, and entering her with one smooth stroke. But with her body supine beneath him and her hand working him into a frenzy, he does not trust the measure of his strength.

"Lois, I…I-I can't…"

"Then, let me."

_What? _Thrown by her response, his entire body, even his violently shaking arms, goes still.

Stopping her movements but still holding on, she instructs, "Open your eyes."

Too confounded to refuse, he complies. When he meets her gaze, he finds her regarding him with both longing and resolve.

"This is very simple," she tells him. "Two questions: Do you love me?"

"Yes."

Winding the hand that she'd placed on his cheek into his hair, she pulls him down to her lips. Pushing her tongue into his mouth, she resumes her back and forth along his length.

Against his mouth, she manages, "And do you want me?"

Overwhelmed by the sensations she's causing, he can only respond by trying to deepen their kiss, but she slips out of his reach.

Tightening her grip and slowing to a torturous pace, she purrs, "You're gonna have to say it."

"Lois…" he groans, breathless.

"Yes? -" - firmly twisting her wrist - "- Or no?"

"Yes," he rasps. "God, yes."

Abruptly, she releases her grasp and drapes both her arms around his neck. He whimpers at the loss of contact, and she can't help but smile in amusement. Kissing him, she hooks her leg around his back and grinds against him. Unsure of what she has in mind, but content to follow her lead, he finally moves a hand from the bed and around her thigh. Leaving their kiss for want of her neck, he presses down against her, and groans when he discovers the ample moisture slicking her.

"You feel that?" she entices, grinding her hips again.

Speechless, he nods against her throat, leaving suckling kisses along her pulse points. The throb in his ears grows louder as she pushes up against him over and over, coating him in her silken heat. Somewhere within, he registers that she says something, but he can't make it out through the haze in his head. Then, he hears his name and feels her hands move to rest on his chest.

"Yes?" he worries, moving from her neck to study her face for signs of distress.

"Sit back."

Immediately, he lets her go and backs away. "What's wrong? Are you…" _okay? _"Did I…" _hurt you? _

"Nothing. Yes. And, no," she replies, placing a hand on the top of his thigh to halt him. "Now stop moving and sit."

He cooperates, giving her a questioning look.

"I already told you," she responds, climbing into his lap and placing a knee on either side of his hips. "Let me."

Instinctively, he helps her settle into her seated position straddling his thighs and pushes her hair behind her ears and shoulders, out of her face.

She smiles at his attentiveness. When he's finished fussing, she presses a "Thank you" to his lips. Pulling back, she quietly asks, "Is this okay?"

"Y-Yeah." With unsteady hands, he pushes into her hair, seeking the comfort of her kiss.

Understanding, she sweeps her lips across his and holds his wrists, running her thumbs across the bottoms of his palms. Relaxing into her, he snakes his hands further into her hair and massages her scalp with his fingertips. She swells with renewed warmth and reflexively pushes down. When he feels the dampness along her inner thighs, he groans, and whispers her name.

Pulling back from his lips, she asks, "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

She sits up onto her knees and scoots forward. He rests his hands in the curves of her waist and she holds his face. Kissing him once more, she reaches between them to align him with her.

Whispering her devotion, she holds his gaze and sinks down, with painstaking slowness, onto her haunches. His mouth falls opens and he gasps at her billowy texture and heat. Easing down along the last bits of him, feeling him press and spread her open, she bites back a whimper and his soft exhale fills the air around them.

Adjusting to her pressure, he closes his eyes and grinds out, "God, Lois..."

Watching him, she wraps her hands around his neck, anchoring herself. She lifts up and grinds back down.

"Unh..." he moans, deep and long.

Slowly, deliberately, she pulls along and pushes down into him. Pull and push. Back and forth. Again and again. Swallowing her own desire, she focuses on him, and fans the flames within them both.

"Lois?" he shudders, searching for her voice.

"Hmm?" she responds, rolling her hips.

"Lois?" he repeats, with more desperation than before.

"Yes?"

"You…you're s-so quiet," he struggles to articulate between heavy breaths, between the punctuations of her increasingly assertive rhythm. He clenches his teeth and reaches a hand around to between her shoulders blades.

She watches him struggle to verbalize what she knows he's asking for, and, denying him the satisfaction a moment longer, she leans forward to dot kisses along his straining jaw muscles and cheeks.

"Please, Lois…I-I need…"

"Tell me," she purrs.

"To hear you," he pants. "Please…I need -"

"- I've dreamt about this, Clark. I've seen all this before. This image of you and me. Of you -" - pushing down to the hilt - "- deep inside me, wanting me, calling to me…"

"Yeah?" he asks, urging her on.

"Yes. I've pictured us. While I'm lying alone in this bed, running my hands over my body, imagining they were your hands…So many nights I've writhed against my own fingers, wishing it was you instead…filling me, stretching me, feeling how much I want you…Do you know now? Just how much I want you?"

"Lois…"

"All those nights, Clark, I wanted it to be you. I'd come, over and over again, with your name on my lips..." The edges of her mouth spread into a devilish smile as she tells him, "And I know you've heard me."

His eyes fly open to meet hers. "You -"

"- Of course I know. I know you've laid in your bed, searching for my voice…focusing on it…stroking yourself in time with my moans and cries…" He starts to offer an apology, but she cuts it short with an eager kiss. Against his lips, she assures him, "Every night, Clark, every night and every word from mouth was for you."

She traces her tongue along his lips and clutches at the hair in her hands. Tilting her head further to the side, she seeks out the warmth and wetness of his tongue.

He rakes his fingers down her back and tightens his hold on her waist, as she pushes her hips into him. Harder and harder. Again and again. "Oh, god…Lois…" he groans, desperate to pull her to him, to match her intensity.

Unnerved by his fraying sense of control, he lets her go and moves his hands to the bed. Missing his touch, she opens her eyes to see what he's doing. With clenched fists, he grips the sheets, pulling at them, channeling his desire down through his arms.

"Don't do that," she tells him, stopping her movements and reaching for one of his hands. Meeting his eyes, she brings it to her mouth and presses a gentle kiss to the inside of his palm and another to his fingertips. Guiding his hand to the small of her back, she urges, "You can hold onto me. I won't break."

Pressing his hand against her as she grinds into him once more, she reminds him, "You love me, Clark." Encouraging him to set their pace, she leaves his hand alone at the base of her spine and drapes her arms over his shoulders. "And you wouldn't hurt me."

Invigorated by the tenderness, the trust conveyed by her words, he brings his other hand to rest on her hip. As she once again slips her tongue past his lips, he pulls her body flush with his, filling every part of her, reaching places she didn't know were there.

"God, Clark…" she gasps.

Breaking their kiss, he pushes her up along his length and then pulls her towards him. Watching the changes in her face, he pushes and pulls. Again and again. Push. Pull. Push. Pull. Eyes closed, she begins whispering a litany of pleas and affirmations.

"Mmm…" she moans, biting at her bottom lip. "So good…god, you feel so good…"

He watches her in rapt fascination, entranced by the effect he's able to have on her. _So damn sexy._ The corners of her mouth stretch up into a slight smile and he realizes he made his remark out loud.

Embarrassed, he begins, "I'm sor-"

"- Don't you dare apologize," she warns, kissing him.

Drinking in the taste of her mouth, his grip on her back and hip slacks, and their tempo slows. Flattered by the effect her kiss has on him, she allows him his momentary distraction. But feverish and aching for more, she takes his lower lip into her mouth and bites down as she grinds her hips back into him.

"Uhh…" he groans, his mind returning to the task at hand.

Reaching beneath her, he lifts her up from her knees, and she extends her legs and wraps them around his back. He resettles her into his lap as she secures a hand to the back of his neck and places the other on the bed behind her, leveraging herself.

Possessively, he splays his hands against her backside - kneading, melding his fingertips into her taut flesh - and pulls her back along him. Her cries for him grow louder and louder as he pushes and pulls. Over and over. She throws her head back and he takes the opportunity to trail heated kisses down her chest.

"Ahh…" she cries out, clear and unrestrained, when his mouth closes over her nipple and he crashes their hips together once more. "Clark…god, Clark…"

Merciless, he sucks and pulls at her, leaving her sensitive skin flushed and swollen. Rolling his tongue around her nipple, he bites down just hard enough to elicit another smoldering groan.

Finally relenting, he looks up along her heaving chest and huskily demands, "Come here." Leaning back towards him, she moves her hand from the bed and cups his cheek. Tilting her mouth down to meet his lips, she grants him the kiss he's looking for. Their tongues meet and push against each other. She pulls his lower lip into her mouth and mimics the same tactics that he'd used on her just moments ago. Her name dies in his throat as he continues pushing and pulling at her.

Overcome by his determined stoking of the fire at her core, she tears her mouth from his and wraps her arms around him, pushing out the air between them. She buries her face in the curve of his neck, gasping in time with his punctuated movements. Again and again, harder and harder, he pulls her along him. She rasps and moans. Whimpers and cries. Filling her, stretching her, he drives her body to its limits. Holding on to him, clutching at him, her head spins as he leads her along the rapturous line between pleasure and pain.

Focused on her sounds, her scent, and the wet heat surrounding him, he barely feels the single drop of moisture that falls onto his shoulder, but he recognizes it for what it is. "Lois?" he asks, breaking their rhythm and turning his head towards her.

"Don't stop. Please, don't stop," she begs, rolling her hips down onto him.

"You're shaking."

"I'm fine, Baby. Trust me."

Pulling away from his neck, she meets his concerned gaze. He reaches a hand from her backside to her cheek, wiping away the salty trail. She presses her lips to his, communicating her need. And he understands.

"Please, Clark…" she whimpers, grinding into him once more.

Pushing upwards, he meets her thrust and they exhale each other's names. Rocking against one another, they rebuild their tempo and, soon, neither can maintain their kiss any longer. He pushes the hand on her cheek back into her hair and wraps his other arm around her back. She locks her fingers behind his neck and presses her forehead to his. Push and pull. Pull and push. Sweat slicks their bodies as the pressure within them builds. Matching one another stroke for stroke, breath for breath, they challenge and chase each other to the brink. Pull and push. Push and pull. Harder and harder. Faster and faster.

"Ahh…" he grinds out. "Lois…god, Lois…I-I'm -"

"- I know."

"Not without you."

"A gentleman to the last," she pants.

"Lois…"

"Say it again," she moans.

"Lois…" he repeats. "Lois… Lois… Lois…" Her name becomes a burning plea, both grounding him and elevating him, forcing him to the verge.

"C'mon, Baby…"

He opens his eyes to meet hers. And all at once, everything becomes clear. He realizes now what she meant when she'd said he would never hurt her. Even at his most fevered, even at his most aggressive, his actions had never manifested in a harmful touch. His commitment, his devotion to her leveled them. In her arms, he was just a man, sharing the most intimate of moments with the love of his life - a woman to whom he would never, he could never, do harm.

He didn't have to hold back.

Loving her meant he would never have to hold back.

With that revelation, his eyes warm and swell. She watches as the first tears fall down his warm cheeks, and she knows he finally understands. Bringing her hands to hold his face, she kisses him as he makes his final push into her.

"I love you."

With their bodies flush, he explodes. Pouring himself into her, he feels her go rigid and her grip along his length pull wire-taut. And then, with his name on her lips, her entire body exhales her release.

Breathless, she collapses into his arms. He reaches a hand between them and presses his fingers against her, nursing the last few spasms from her body. When her aftershocks subside, he brings his fingers to his mouth and savors the richness and complexity. Her chest still heaving, she leans down to run her tongue along his lips, sharing in the taste of their passion.

Carefully, he reaches under her and lifts her off of him. Holding her to him, he reclines back into the bed. She closes her eyes and lays her head above his heart. Anticipating that she'll be cold soon, he pulls a sheet and a blanket over them. "Thank you," she whispers.

Soothingly, he rubs her back and strokes her hair until her breathing and heart rate return to normal.

For long minutes, they lie with only the sounds of the burning candles filling the room.

And then, he softly says her name.

"Hmm?" she murmurs. When he doesn't respond, she lifts her head to meet his gaze. Seeing the unabashed depth of emotion in his watery eyes, she rests her hand on his chest and holds her breath.

"Will you marry me?"

-END-


End file.
